LAUREATE, adj. Crowned with leaves of the laurel. In England the Poet Laureate is an officer of the sovereign's court, acting as dancing skeleton at every royal feast and singing-mute at every royal funeral. Of all incumbents of that high office, Robert Southey had the most notable knack at drugging the Samson of public joy and cutting his hair to the quick; and he had an artistic color-sense which enabled him so to blacken a public grief as to give it the aspect of a national crime.
2008 Update: Any tradesman biodegradeably ornamented as a collected specimen of his or her profession. One such is the Poet Laureate of the United States who is anointed by the President to imply he reads.
LAUREATE, adj. One who, by some conspicuous virtue, is to be protected, at least momentarily, from suffering the penalty for his other crimes. The symbolism is an ironic reversal of humankind's early history, when the award was given to one whose, ah, goose was cooked.
You did know that the laurel wreath was made up of bay leaves, didn't you?
Maybe it's just me but I don't believe the current president is going to read this.
Years ago, a teacher taught us to pronounce this word as "lori ate." I'd always look across the aisle and wonder why Lori's stomach was growling. Perhaps she ate a bad pun for breakfast. ...
This is a fascinating blog. I wish I'd found it a long time ago! I came here via Jim and Jamie Dawn.
Dressed in speices to cover up the stench of pne's successes -- or was that excesses?
I used to read poetry, but now I just wait for it to come out as a song. I used to read books, but now I just wait for the movie. I used to read recipes, but now just get the can. I used to read the Bible, but now I'm just waiting to die.
Hey, Janell came by!! Hoooray!
Laureate: Any brilliant person with a sister named Zither.
I suspected, Amoeba.
Sauerkraut, I know those unsettle my stomach.
It wasn't pne, Quilly.
Icy, I think you even just wrote the epitaph.
JD, you are the crucifix laureate of Arkansas, I bet.
That was poetry, Tom.
Laureate: Smart old person. Sometimes. Sometimes just an old person without the smart part. (Leaving myself open here. I trust you son.)
I thought the laurel wreath was made of brambles, which was why we weren't to rest on it.
We can however rest on our Laureates. Should as a matter of fact.
Ariel, I agree. Tom's a reluctant genius.
TLP, I'll updater you to Blogmama Laureate.
Cooper, I feed mine and walk them.
Welcome to another friend of Jamie Dawn's, Doug. As John Goodman liked to say in Arachnaphobia, it's always a pleasure to meet a colleague.
True, Actonbell. By the way, I think of belly-dancers at Pennsylvanian restaurants.
I want to be appointed the Big Weirdo Freak Laureate.
I'd rather be roseate.
Lily, I can't even imagine who will come in second.
Drinks are on me, Weirsdo.
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